


Dream of Winter Roses

by gameofoneshots



Series: Sansan are soulmates [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, F/M, POV Sansa Stark, Soulmates, sansan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-15
Updated: 2020-05-01
Packaged: 2021-02-19 04:37:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 13,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22271962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gameofoneshots/pseuds/gameofoneshots
Summary: Sansan Soulmate AUIn this universe, soulmates dream each others dreams. Sansa is therefore sometimes plagued with some troubling images of fire at night.Nevertheless, she holds onto her dream of marrying her soulmate.Yet, when the time comes, she puts herself aside when she is supposed to marry the Prince who comes North to take her with him.And guess who he has in tow…
Relationships: Catelyn Stark/Ned Stark, Joffrey Baratheon/Sansa Stark, Sandor Clegane/Sansa Stark
Series: Sansan are soulmates [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1725031
Comments: 317
Kudos: 361





	1. Chapter 1

The songs praised love, and they praised soulmates. Her favourite was that of Jonquil and her Florian. Sansa would sing it when she threaded her needle through the fabric carefully, feeling the smoothness of the cold steel against the softness of her new dress. She would sing it as she made herself a flower crown of blue winter roses, and ran around Winterfell. She would hum it to herself softly, during dinner. She would sing it again and again, until her voice cracked and her eye-lids felt as if they weighed a thousand pounds.  
Someday she would meet her Florian, and perhaps he would be a fool, but he would be her fool nonetheless. She only ever day dreamed of her Florian. During the day, she was in love with the idea of him, imagined what he looked like, where she would meet him, but during her sleepless nights, she wished she had no soulmate at all. 

She could see his dreams. They sometimes were more violent than any tale her father had ever told her of the war. There was bloodshed and violence, there was fire, too. So much of it. Every time she went to bed, she prayed upon the old gods and the new that this night her dreams would fill her head. Dreams of winter snow and of roses, of gallant knights and that of summer rain. Sometimes, her prayers were heard, and the gods had mercy upon her, sometimes they did not, and she would wake up, a soft string of beaded sweat on her forehead. 

Whoever her soulmate was, he was in pain. She continued to pray for him and pray for her dreams to soften his anguish. 

“I’ll hit his head really hard for you so that he might lose his horrible thoughts”, her father would say whenever she climbed into her parents’ bed at night. 

“Don’t hurt him. He is already in so much pain.” Sansa hated her nights, but she hated that her soulmate was in more pain that she could ever imagine. If her nights were this horrible, how bad did his days have to be?

She was strolling through Wintertown after a particularly bad night, when she sang her little song again. If only she could keep singing in her dreams. Her soulmate would never have a bad night again for everyone loved Florian and Jonquil. And if he heard her sing, perhaps he would forget his bad dreams, perhaps she could chase them away. Her mother had always said that her singing could transport her to another place. She wished she could do that for him. In a way, it was silly that she wanted to rescue him with a foolish little thing as a song, but it was all that she had.

When she heard that she was going to marry the Prince, she was neither pleased or displeased. It was a great honour after all, and most people never met their soulmates. It was silly, she knew that, but she had so hoped to be one of the lucky ones, she had hoped to be a maiden from the songs. 

“Will you be alright”, her father asked. The room was dark, but darkness had never frightened her. In fact, she welcomed it as the halls of Winterfell were dark with only the warm light of a few torches guiding her way. She was the only Stark child to be born here, and to be welcomed to this realm during icy snow. Perhaps she had the looks of a summer maid, but she carried the northern storms and the soft ice crystals within her heart. Her father said so every night before sending her off to bed. 

She considered. Would she truly be alright loving someone that wasn’t destined to be hers? Would she be alright without her fool? She looked at her father then. He had married her mother although she had not been his soulmate, and their love was all Sansa could hope for. 

“Always,” she replied. Still, she wrinkled her forehead. 

“Out with it”, he demanded. “I can find you another husband if you wish.”

“No, I am happy. I hope that someday he will be happy, too.” 

“The Prince?” Her father seemed confused, she could see it in his stormy eyes. “Anyone who is lucky enough to be given your hand in marriage should be the happiest man to walk this realm.”

“No,” she replied, “I want him to be happy, too.” She thought of it then, what if she dreamed about the Prince and his gold hair? She had heard it was more golden than the sun. Would he be angry with her? She had always dreamed of knights, but none of them had been real. Would her soulmate despise her for dreaming of someone that way that was not him? 

“He will be”, he said and put his arms around his daughter. “With all that he has put you through, you deserve some happiness as well.” 

Sansa nodded, though she did not agree. He hadn’t put her through anything. He had been through everything, been through hell. She only wanted to lessen his pain, not add on to it. That was the last thing she wanted to do. She kissed her mother and father good night before reassuring them that she did want to marry the Prince. Perhaps it would be easier that way. The Prince would give her security and comfort, while her soulmate had only fire and anguish to offer. Someday she would be Queen, while with her soulmate she would only be his wife. It was for the best.

“It is for the best”, she told herself as she brushed her hair. She told herself that little sentence again and again, the song of Jonquil and Florian not leaving her lips once.  
That night, when she went to bed, she prayed and prayed until her head it her pillow. She prayed for the night and the dreams to come, and for once she wished that she would see his dreams for she was afraid what she might dream of. 

If she could control her dreams, he would never know that she was to marry the Prince. For all he knew, she could be a peasant girl dreaming of silly stories and living out stupid little fantasies in her head. That night, her soulmate’s dreams did fill her head, and for a second, she had thought that it was her own dreams for he was dreaming of Winterfell and horse riding.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Prince and his company have arrived.   
> Sansa gets to know her future husband (not saying who that is) a bit better

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have been loving the response to this!   
> Y'all make my little writer heart explode!
> 
> uwu

The Prince had arrived, oh and he had been a sight blessed by the gods. His hair had been as golden as the sun. The stories had not lied. He had been as gallant and chivalrous as a true prince from the songs would be. Yet, there was something disappointing in him. Sansa told herself that it was because his soul was not destined to unite with hers. She wondered if he had a soulmate as well. Of course, he would have. Everyone had one. But did he resent her for stopping him from being with his destiny? Someone out there was meant to be with him, and here she was in that person’s stead, talking to the Queen about dress making. 

She was sat on a bench, watching her brothers spar in the courtyard, when she sung her favourite song again. She hummed it from start to finish on an endless absentminded loop. She watched them do their dance with steel and sword, watch them laugh and jest. 

Whenever she sung, she was transported far way, into the realm where only songs and their fair maidens dwelled. A world filled with blue winter rose gardens and endless snow crystal. It was always winter there, but no one was ever cold or hungry. Jonquil sat in her garden and sang to Florian sitting next to her. 

Back in the realms of men, someone did in fact sit next to her. The Prince was watching her brothers now as well. His sworn shield stood behind them, and she noticed the shadow he threw over her. He did stick to Joffrey like a shadow, and she supposed that would mean he would follow her every step as well.   
The Hound, he was called. His true name she knew not. A mother would have never named her child after an animal after all. 

Someone must have loved him once, she thought to herself. It was hard to imagine that now, but everyone was loved or had been loved at some point in their life. She briefly thought about what type of person his soulmate would be, what dreams he had to share, and if his dreams were as frightening as her soulmates. She pitied him then, and his soulmate as well. 

She should not have thought of him so harshly. It was not like her, and her lady mother would be greatly disappointed. 

“I dreamed of you my lady”, her Prince said and smirked. Sansa blushed, but she did not do so because she felt flattered. No, she was ever so slightly ashamed as she now knew that his soulmate must have seen her in his dreams. What hatred his soulmate must have for her! She also did not like the way his lip curled in the corner of his mouth. She could not put her finger on what it reminded her of, but it did not sit well within her stomach. 

“What did you dream of”, she asked shyly. 

“Your beauty. It is famous in the South, and now that I have seen you, I can confirm that you do not belong in the North. Your true place is in the South, among my sister’s red rose gardens, and next to my throne.”

Sansa thanked him for his kind words, but again, they did not sit well with her. She was flattered, but she carried winter within her heart. She loved the idea of the south and the warm sea, the taste of salt upon her lips and the sun kissing her skin, but her true place was in the North. She was a Stark, but not for long anymore.   
The Prince soon left, and he did kiss her hand before he hurried away. 

“My dog will stay with you, my lady, it would be a shame if something were to happen to a beautiful girl like you. The training grounds are no safe place for you.”

“Thank you, my lord. You are so generous.” The training grounds were a safe space for her, she had sat here many times, watching her brothers do their dance of steel and sweat. She was a lady though, and lady could never forget their courtesies. She was to marry the Prince, she was to become Queen someday. She needed to be respected and well loved by her husband. 

Sansa thought about the Hound and his soulmate again. She felt less sorry for them now. Anyone would love their soulmate just as they are. That was what made a soulmate so special. She was more sorry for him. He must have had a rough life. Tonight, she would perhaps pray for him and ask the gods to better his life, to bless him with his soulmate in his life. 

She hadn’t even noticed that she was humming it again, but then again, it had been a constant habit of hers ever since she had been able to speak. Perhaps she had been able to sing the melody before she had been able to squeak the tiniest word. 

“Singing again, are you, little bird”, she heard the giant behind her mumble. 

“Forgive me Ser, it is my favourite. Do you know it”, she asked politely. 

He corrected her that he was not a Ser, but right when she had thought that the conversation had died, he began to whisper. “Have heard it too many a times.”

She smiled at him then. She put on her sweetest smile, the one that had always made her parents smile back at her. “I will sing another song for you gladly.”

"I said that I have heard it too many times, not that I didn't like it", he simply said, and for some reason, her heart took a leap. The Prince had kissed her hand, but that had been nothing.   
It is only because he liked your favourite song, she told herself. Everyone she knew was already sick of hearing her sing it. It was just the excitement of the compliment, nothing else. Still, when she looked into his eyes, she saw Winterfell, snowy storms and her father. She saw home. When she looked into the Prince's eyes, she saw jewels that were too bright and too sharp. She saw emerald snakes in the south. She saw nothing.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa finds herself taking to someone after a horrible nightmare

The feast that night was glorious, she had listened to the chatter of her father’ bannermen and the music being played in the background. The lutes carried her away to another place, far, far way from Princes and Queens and delicious roasts. She had always been able to get carried away like that. No matter where the music came from, she could lose herself in it. It didn’t matter where it came from, her own mouth, her mother singing at her bedside, a lute at a feast, or Old Nan’s songs. 

So, she didn’t notice the hours passing by, nor did she notice the way her every move was watched. It was time for her to retire. She did so gracefully, bidding goodnight to the Queen, and the Prince, her Prince. 

“Dream of me”, the Prince said, and for a second, she thought it was a command, not a request. 

But of course he could request that, she thought. She was to be his wife, and a good lady wife was always to obey her lord husband. And Sansa would be a good wife, she would be the sweetest and kindest. She would love him dearly, and she would let him hold her at night, but he would never have her soul. Her soul belonged to someone out there who deserved better than what he was dreaming of. 

“I always am, my Lord.” It was a sweet little lie, she never dreamed of his golden hair or his emerald eyes. Her dreams were fire and flame and sometimes, if she got luck and they were truly hers, she would dream of knights and snowfall, of winter roses and snow crushed underneath her feet. 

Still, the Prince seemed to be pleased with her answer, and he smiled at her. Sansa dipped her head low, as it was expected of her, and she hoped that the little wine she had had would bring some colour to her pale cheeks. 

The day was done, and when Sansa laid down to finally rest, she was surprised at how quickly she fell asleep. 

In her dreams, Sansa was riding her horse, her direwolf Lady was there, too. They were riding through a field of snow crystals. The skies were violet blue, and she rode, and rode, and rode on, nothing and nobody in her way. Soft snow fell from the sky and got caught in the lashes of her eye. She was happy here. She could taste Winter on her tongue and could feel the blood rushing through her cheeks. 

Her horse suddenly stopped and before she knew what was happening, the skies turned red and the snow melted away. She screamed at her horse to move, to ride away, take her from this place, but it wouldn’t move an inch. Sansa couldn’t move an inch. She looked around, her body frozen in place. 

Something was terribly wrong, something was wrong. 

A beast charged at her from the left. It was taller than any tower in Winterfell, fire poured out of its nostrils, and its golden mane was speckled with blood. It cut through Lady like she was nothing but parchment. 

Sansa screamed but could do nothing as the beast came for her. She was powerless, frozen in place, and there was nobody there to help here.

She was still screaming when she sat up in bed, damp neck and shivering despite the warm fire in her room. Sansa was used to nightmares. Her soulmate had them often, but she knew deep down that it was not her soulmate who had conjured up the beast and let it tear through Lady like that. Her soulmate had not turned her lilac skies blood red. It was her own mind that had terrified and shaken her to her core. 

Slowly, she climbed out of her bed. Her feet were shaking as she laced up her shoes. She had never been this afraid before. 

What was happening to her?

True ladies only dreamed of their husbands and of knights. A lady would never dream of blood and horror, not on her own accord. 

She laced up her shoes and pulled a cloak over her nightshift. A good breath of fresh air would calm her. A deep breath of home, and she would be safe again. Nothing in this world could harm her here. She was in Winterfell, this was her home, and nothing could frighten her. There were hundreds of bannermen and the King’s soldiers here. Nobody inside these castle walls would ever want to harm her. 

Sansa made for the hallways that overlooked the courtyard. She was never good at telling the time based on the stars and skies alone, Bran had always been so intuitive, but it had to be early in the morning. She could hear no more chatter and signing coming from the Great Hall, and there were no soldiers enjoying their night in the courtyard. 

She was alone. 

“What is a little bird like you doing by herself at this time of night.” Sansa froze in her tracks. She had not heard the Hound approach her. 

“You are shaken, do I frighten you so?”

“No”, she said, “I had a bad dream. That’s all.” She was not afraid of him. In fact, she felt safer now that he was here. If the Hound could guide her through her dreams, she would feel safer, but alas, her dreams were hers alone and that of her soulmate. 

Her soulmate. She must have frightened him as well. She hoped she hadn’t disturbed him. He needed some rest. After all, someone with such vicious dreams must have an even more vicious day. 

“A bad dream”, he mused. “Your little soulmate frightened you so much with his scary little dreams.”

“No”, she repeated, “it was my own dream. I hope he is alright. I hope I did not frighten him.”

“You could never frighten anyone, little bird. Not until the skies fall.” But in her dream, the skies had fallen, and then, the beast had come for her with its claws as long as her father’s sword, and nobody standing in its way, nobody to help her. 

“You are still shaking. Take a seat”, he said, and she again thought that it sounded like a command. His command was caring. His rough voice even sounded softer. 

Sansa sat. She was shivering after all, and a lady could never refuse a knight. 

“You are shivering as well”, she said softly. 

“It is nothing. I’m not used to the North. It’s bloody cold.” She nodded at that, but they both fell silent. Sansa hated silence. There was too much silence in this world already, so she began to sing. Florian and Jonquil. She would die with their song upon her lips, she knew it. 

She repeated their words until she thought the cold air was going to tear her fingers off, until she couldn’t feel them anymore. The ice was biting away at them, and she did not know where they began, and where they ended. Not until she felt his large hands around his. His warm hands touching her icy ones. 

But he had said that he was cold. Perhaps he was frightened just like she was, but he dared not to say it. 

“You are freezing”, he said. 

“And you are warm.”

“You should go back to bed, little bird. The Prince can’t marry you if you’re a corpse by morning.”

“He’ll find another”, she said absentmindedly. He would. They were not soulmates. His world wouldn’t break apart. He could just as well marry Arya. “But if I do die, find my soulmate and tell him that I only wish him the best, that he deserves a better life.”

“You are not going to die, little bird. It was only a jest. And I do not know who your sorry little soulmate is, so find another to go on that quest for you.”

“I don’t know him either”, she sighed. “I only know that he dreams of fire, and that he dreams of knights because of me. The last dream we ever shared was mine. I was riding with Lady when a beast tore into me.” Sansa sighed again but rose to her feet. It was late and she should go back to bed. 

She was waiting for him to walk her to her chambers. It was expected of him, but he sat there, looking at her with the widest eyes, and his fingers fidgeting like he was trying to grasp the cold air within them and hold it tight. 

“Little Bird”, he said, and she could hear it in his voice that something had changed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was so tired when I came back from the gym yesterday and I fell straight into bed ( I can also feel every single muscle in my back today, who knew those existed)
> 
> I went to a writing meet-up and instead of writing, I ended up talking about Star Wars and GOT for 5 hours sooooooooo…..  
> This was done alte at night without checking any of it again, I know that it's probably shit but here you go anyway


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of that night leaves Sansa truly baffled

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SOOOOOOOOOOOOOO remember when I was on a writing roll because I was procrastinating my dissertation? I wrote that over the weekend so here we go!
> 
> ALSO REMEMBER WHEN I SAID THAT I WAS GONNA DO 4 CHAPTERS; WELL LOOK AT THAT CHAPTER COUNT MY FRIENDS: I AM OVERTHROWING MY PLANS! 5 CHAPTERS AT LEAST

Sansa turned on her heel, her eyes tired, but she wanted to be polite and he had sounded like he was going to say something important. 

“Yes”, she asked when he didn’t come out with it. She even took a step closer to where he was still sitting. 

“Go to bed”, he said, and she could see him clenching his fist so tightly that his knuckles turned white and his head grew red, almost purple. Sansa was sure that it was not what he had meant to say, but she was tired, and the Hound did not strike her as someone who wanted to be questioned any further.

“Will you walk me to my chambers?” His head shot up, eyes wide and his head no longer red, but white. How quickly the blood had rushed out of his head. 

“You are to be the Prince’s wife”, he said ever so quietly. “You ought to be kept safe.”   
Sansa wondered if he had said that to her or to himself. Perhaps he had said it to the gods. How a man as tall and as gruff as him could speak so softly, she didn’t know. Usually, he barked and growled and grunted, but at this time of night he was almost time. His bark was worse than his bite, though he had never barked at her. 

The Hound rose to his feet and strode past her in her nightshift and thin cloak. She understood that she was to follow him, but she wanted to protest. The King and his company had only just arrived here. Winterfell was her home, and he could surely not know the way to her chambers.

She was surprised to find out, that he in fact did know the way to the family chambers. He only looked unsure which door to lead her to. 

Sansa spared him that thought and opened a door to the left. 

“Thank you”, she said, and for a moment she thought she ought to kiss him goodnight. An innocent kiss, just like the one she gave her brothers or parent, but a kiss nonetheless. It did occur to her then that he was the Hound, and she was not promised to him. So, she only thanked him and closed the door. 

From underneath the door she could still see his shadow. He was still standing in front of her door. She thought that he had also looked rather tired, but yet he was still there, not in his own bed. 

She thought no more of it, and only hummed her little song before she wrapped her furs around her body. She dreamt well that night, her own dreams without a doubt. She had been in Jonquil’s garden again, dancing among the flowers of the seasons and feeling the winter sun kiss her skin softly. 

Whenever she dreamed of that world of flowers and songs, and of maidenly things, she hoped her soulmate wouldn’t mind. She hoped that he would find some peace in them and forget his own life for just one night. 

During the time that the King stayed in Winterfell, she did not see the Hound anymore. He still clung to Joffrey like his own shadow, but he would not be left alone with her. Sansa wondered if she had said anything to offend him, or perhaps if she had done something that had infuriated him so that he could no longer bare to speak to her. He had lingered in front of her door that night, and perhaps it had something to do with that. The only thing she did notice was that he seemed to grow more tired with every day and every night that passed, like he hadn’t slept in a fortnight. 

Sansa on the other side, she slept like she had never before. At first, she had been happy that no more nightmares plagued her nights, but then she grew concerned. What if her soulmate had died and that was the reason she could no longer see his dreams? What if the one person that was fated to be her true love had perished and she had never met them. She wore slightly darker clothes that day, in mourning of her true love. She would not even touch her breakfast. She had to mourn for him. Even if she didn’t know him. She had to.

“You are not eating”, the Hound said to her on the second day that she wore her dark blue dress. It reminded her of the night sky over Winterfell, but at the moment it was as blue as the rivers of sorrow. 

“I am not hungry”, she said, and then her body betrayed her and growled at the Hound like he growled at so many others. 

He didn’t even say anything, only arched his brow, and then fell silent again. 

“I am mourning for my soulmate”, she said then, ever so quietly, perhaps hoping he wouldn’t hear her. “I think he died.” She thought he would appreciate her honesty. He always seemed so genuine in everything he said. 

“Grieving for a cunt you don’t know”, he huffed. “And you’re not even sure he’s dead.”

Sansa’s hunger got the best of her, or perhaps it was her foolish faith in love. “Do not call him that”, she said through her teeth. 

“I’ll call him what I want.”

“No, you will not. He is my soulmate and imagine if someone said that about yours, what would you say?” She was infuriated and about to remind him that he was speaking to a lady and that ladies had no use for such a language, but she figured that he wouldn’t care. 

The Hound was silent for a moment, perhaps she had struck a chord within him, perhaps he did care about soulmates after all.   
“Do yourself a favour, girl, and eat.”

“I can’t”, she said, tears prickling against the rims of her eyes. “I couldn’t ever make him feel loved, or safe, and I need to grieve for him. Everyone deserves someone to mourn them when they are gone.”

“No one will mourn for me”, he said. 

“I will”, she said. “I’ll grieve for you.”

“You’ll wear black? That colour is no good for little birds.”

“It will become my favourite colour of them all”, she said and watched as he ran off. Now she had truly chased him away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hehe this is me begging for comments, because reviews really help with developing the story, and kind comments keep that writing juice flowing


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sandor's not sleeping, Sansa is in mourning, and Joffrey is being himself

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, everyone, I am still alive. I know, I also thought I was dead. I’m really sorry for not posting sooner, but I had to work on some personal stuff, and I’ve been reconsidering what to make of this story. I always read the comments and am very open to critique and imput from you guys. This is not my fic, it is OURS.

Her mourning continued, but whenever the Prince asked her why she was wearing such dark clothes, and why she was refusing food, she lied. She didn’t want to make him jealous. She was to be his wife. And a good wife she would be. 

She merely smiled and said, “It’s a Nothern custom, my lord. I am preparing myself for our journey south.” 

He simply nodded and then carried on, telling Sansa of the rich beauty of the south, the golden palaces, the red stones of the keep, the crystal blue waters of the sea. He never questioned it. She was known to be good and virtuous after all. 

Ever since the nightmares stopped, she felt a deep and profound lack of something in her heart. Losing his dreams, nightmares they might have been, but they had been his, wasn’t a heart ripped in two, aching for its lost half. It was more painful than that. No part of her heart was missing. She was sure. She had checked just to be sure, but it was still lying there underneath her ribs, pounding away. 

There was a certain lack of something, someone. A person she had never known had built his house inside her body, inside the chambers of her heart. And he had left, without ever saying goodbye. He had never said hello either, but he was gone, and she was in pieces. 

The night before, she had confessed her sorrows to her parents. 

“He is dead, I know it. Why else would I not dream his dreams?”

Her mother and father had no way of comforting her. All they could do was hold her, and tell her that she didn’t know that for certain. They told her that perhaps the gods just willed it that they dreamt her dreams for a while, as to comfort and soften her soulmate. 

That thought did not put a smile on her face, but dried the tears upon her cheeks. She even ate her breakfast the next morning. 

“It’s good to see you smiling again. I suppose my lady’s customs are done”, the Prince said, tearing into the contents of his plate. He tore the flesh apart with his fork and chewed on it as if it were still alive in his mouth. 

“They are”, she said. “I was wondering if my lord would honour me and come to the godswood with me.” 

“Of course he will.” The Queen had answered for her son before he could even swallow. “Won’t you, Joffrey?”

“If my lady wills it so.” His voice was soft, softer than ever before. Sansa looked at his mother, and understood. The Prince was afraid of his own mother. She felt pity for him then. When she had his children, she would be gentler. Her children would love her, and they would have no reason to be afraid. 

It wasn’t too cold outside, it wasn’t winter. The pathway was slippery. The mourning mist sat upon the rocks and stones as it always did, but Sansa paid no attention to it. she would go to the godswood and ask the gods about her soulmate, she would pray for his happiness, and if he was truly gone from this world, she would pray for an afterlife that treated him kinder than this earthly life had. Of course, she would pray for the Prince. But he had everything. Her soulmate was in more need of someone who prayed for him. 

She would also pray for Sandor Clegane. She had recently learned his true name, and was going to use it. The last time she had spoken to him, he had carried so much sadness inside his heart. She would pray for him just the way she would pray for her soulmate. 

The Prince followed her to the ancient godswood of Winterfell, and as he was a few steps behind her, she thought it would be no harm in humming her little song to herself. She had not even mentioned Florian’s name, when she heard a growl from behind. 

Sansa turned around to see who it was, and to her surprise, it was the Prince, not Clegane who seemed to bare his teeth at her. 

“Sing another one”, he demanded. “I can’t listen to it anymore.”

“Of course my lord”, she said, and quickly turned around as to hide her face. She didn’t want to offend her Prince, her future husband and King. She didn’t want him to see how heavy she was breathing now, how her throat was not letting any air into her lungs. She had sung it twice in front of him. Just two times. 

He was to be her husband, and he hated her singing. 

Sansa pulled the hood of her cape into her face, and loosened her hair so it would fall forward. He was not to see her cry. 

She kneeled down by the tree that her father had sat in so many times and started to pray. She would not start with Joffrey. He could wait. 

But yet, he did not. Mere minutes had passed, when she heard him leave her. He marched out of the godswood and left her alone with his sworn shield. 

Yet, she couldn’t let herself get distracted that way, she would continue to pray. Sansa sat on her knees for such a long time, her legs went numb, and she couldn’t feel where her feet ended and where her shoes began. 

Just like that night, when she had not been able to sleep, when the Hound, no, Clegane, had meant to say something and then hadn’t. 

The last thing she prayed for was a sign. “Just a small one”, she thought, “it could be the tiniest thing, but please, show me that he is still alive. That is all I ask of you.”

“Little Bird, you ought to head back now”, Clegane called for her. His voice was soft, perhaps softer than Joffreys, but also rougher than his boyish squeak. 

“I am done with my prayers.”

“Pray for your little soulmate, did you now”, he said. 

One day she would get used to his mockery, but she understood. He was not being mean, he was hurting. Something must have pained him so deeply that he could no longer be kind. If she had been successful, he would become gentler. She had prayed for his salvation of his pain, and that the gods may gentle the rage inside him. 

“I did”, she said, and she saw the way his eyes darkened. Perhaps he was so defensive about soulmates because his was dead. Perhaps his soulmate had not been kind to him. Perhaps she had not loved him enough to see past his scars. If her soulmate were to have scars, she would love him because of them, never despite them. 

“I prayed for you, too.” 

He grunted at that, but she had come to understand that it didn’t mean he disapproved. It simply meant that he had heard her. 

“If you cannot sleep, I’ll tell the maester and he’ll fix you a tea. I understand, sometimes, I cannot sleep either. It is a common thing.”

“I don’t need a tea”, he said, but he seemed more hurt than angered. 

They walked back to the castle in silence, but when she looked at Joffrey, sitting there on a bench, she remembered how he had growled at her. 

“Be careful”, Clegane said then. “Little birds can easily be caught in between a lion’s sharp teeth, and then, no wolves or dogs can save you.” 

She whipped her head around, but he was already gone. Sandor Clegane was a mystery to her. She had no idea what he wanted from her, why he said those things he said. 

But that night, she dreamt of fire again, and she knew then that it was not her dream. It was her soulmate’s. The only thing she thought was curious, was the figure burning in the middle. It was a maid with hair so red, it almost blended into the flames consuming her surroundings. The maid lifted her head, and Sansa woke in terror as the maid lifted her head. She could see that maiden’s face as clear as day now. It was her own.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa awakes from her (her soulmate's) dream and is searching for her one true love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In advance: I'm sorry for this chapter. The contents of this were supposed to be just a paragraph or two but here we are. I'll add more soon. At least the chapter count is going up.

Her own face. It had to be. It had been. She had stared back at her own face, a face she had seen so many times. Sansa was sure she would recognise her own face when she saw it, but then again, she had never seen herself through eyes outside of her body. But she was sure. 

She excused herself from breakfast that morning and paced around her room. She was sure that it had not been her own dream. It was her soulmates. Hers felt different, and yes, sometimes people died within her nightmares, but it was always someone else, someone she loved. This dream had tugged at her heart strings differently, and she had almost tasted her soulmates fear on her tongue. 

It was his dream. Not hers. She was glad that he was indeed alive, but he had dreamt of her. If it hadn’t been for her face in his dream, she would have been the happiest girl in Winterfell. He was alive, he was as well as he could be, but there was something deeply upsetting. 

Her soulmate knew her face. He had to. There was no other reasonable explanation as to how her soulmate could have possibly dreamed of her face. He knew her. Perhaps he was within these castle’s walls. She paced around her room for hours as she wondered who it could be. 

Perhaps it was Theon, with his wild eyes and jests. She had known him all her life. He was as much of a brother to her as Jon. Not fully, but a brother nonetheless. Sansa already loved him, and she supposed it would be a blessing to be soulmates to someone who knew her so well, yet she didn’t believe it. Wasn’t she supposed to feel deeply connected to her soulmate? A bond tying their heart and souls together? 

No, it had to be someone else. She thought of all the men and boys of Winterfell, the kennel master’s sons, the stable boys, her father’s bannermen, and the boys she knew lived in Wintertown. 

It would be good to have a soulmate from the North. The North was in her heart. It was within the pale colour of her cheeks and the crystal blue of her eyes. 

“Sansa”, someone was knocking on her door. “Sansa, the Queen has asked for you.” Her lady mother was calling for her. She was calling for her to go to the Queen. 

The Queen, the Prince. She had forgotten about them. 

How could she have forgotten about them? They were to be her family. They were to be her new home. Sansa felt almost ashamed. It was not right to be forgetting one’s own family. And it was not right that she was thinking about someone who wasn’t promised to her. She was to be Joffrey’s wife, was to be his Queen, and that meant more than someone who she was destined to be with. 

It did not sit right with her. In fact, it sounded strange. Didn’t the soul, fate, and the gods have a higher power and authority than anyone else? 

She bit her bottom lip and looked into the mirror one last time before making her way to the Queen. She had to be sure that she was looking calm and composed. Queens were supposed to act not on silly childhood dreams but on what was best for everyone else. And she was to be Queen. She should know her place in this world. And she did. 

The Queen inquired about her dress-making skills, though Sansa thought she was only trying to force some conversation. 

“Little dove, you seem absent minded”, Queen Cersei said. 

“Forgive me”, she said and blushed. It was not a ladylike blush. Not one of those blushes that ladies were supposed to flash at knights and their lord husbands, but an embarrassed one. She had offended the Queen. 

“It is nothing. I was only dreaming of the Red Keep. The Prince described it ever so gloriously.”

“I’m sure he did.” The Queen sipped at her wine and Sansa was thankful that she did not bring it up again. 

But she was not the only one who noticed that Sansa’s mind was not wandering among the living. It was somewhere far off. 

She walked through the courtyard and as she passed the King’s men, she looked each of them straight in the face. It was not the way a true lady was supposed to behave, but she had to know. Her soulmate knew her face, and several new faces had just arrived in Winterfell. Perhaps it was one of them. 

She had briefly wondered if it was the Prince. It would be perfect. It would make things easier, but that was not how the realms of mortal men worked. Nothing was ever simple. He hated her singing, and her soulmate would never dislike it. She had sensed that it had calmed him in some way, and her Prince had hated it. Even the Hound, Sandor Clegane had liked it. 

She eyed every single person during dinner, but as she looked into their eyes, she knew that it wasn’t them. It couldn’t be them. As she searched their faces, they only blended into one fleshy mass. She ought to know, she thought. 

If someone in the Great Hall truly was her soulmate, she ought to know, her soul had to know. She even thought about the King, but it was well known that his soulmate had been her aunt. Her father had told her so. She looked at the Kingslayer, the Queen’s brother, but he didn’t even acknowledge her existence. If he shared a fragment of her soul, he would look at her. 

Sansa could do nothing but pluck her fork from her food and cut her greens into the tiniest pieces. Her lady mother looked at her with her sad blue eyes, and all she could offer in return was a tired smile. 

The Prince said something, and Sansa laughed. She was supposed to do that. Perhaps he could take her mind off the shambles and carnage her heart was becoming. He would have to. He was to be her future, her love, her King, her lord and her life. Nothing good would come of dreaming of something that would never be. 

She was Sansa Stark of Winterfell, future Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, and she would do what was honourable, what was asked of her.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa and Sandor speak yet again. It is only a matter of time until someone realises that these two are destined for each other

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello my dudes,   
> this was the hardest chapter to write, and I don't know if I like it
> 
> Also, for those asking, my Tumblr is @gameofoneshots, and no the insta with that handle is not mine. I take prompts and requests on Tumblr, and I notify people there when I upload. (though I would just advise to subscribe to this fic)
> 
> LET'S ROCK'N ROLL BUCKAROO

She was in the courtyard again, when he interrupted her thoughts. Sansa had spent the last hours thinking. She thought of her soulmate, her dreams, his dreams, her engagement to the Prince, and the fact that she would never be able to find her Florian. It wouldn’t matter, even if she did find him. She was promised to the Prince, and true ladies should love their husbands no matter what. 

None of it mattered. She threw the pebble she had been holding forward. It had turned ever so hot in her clutched fist. 

“Throwing stones is it now”, the Prince’s shield said. He was standing right in front of her. “At least you’ve got good aim.” 

Her eyes widened. She must have hit him. At least that was what he seemed to be suggesting. “Forgive me. I-“

“You?” She whimpered softly. She had heard him bark his mean remarks at others before, and today was not the day where she needed those. Sansa needed some good news today, and she would truly hate to cry again. She had cried too many times these past days. No more tears. No more waterfalls upon her cheeks. 

“You won’t tell the Prince, will you.” She paused. Sansa was afraid of what her Prince might think of her if he knew she was throwing around rocks like a farmer’s son. She was to be the Queen, his Queen. Throwing pebbled would have to be left to Arya and her little brothers. 

“I’m sorry if I hurt you. I didn’t mean to.” 

He laughed then. He was right. It was silly. How could a mere girl hurt such a tall and strong warrior. He might not have been graced with the same beauty as her Florian, but he seemed stronger and taller than any knight from any song could ever be. 

“I don’t feel anything there anyway.” He turned, and for the first time, she could truly see his scars fully. They were like mountain ridges upon his face, like the ones in the North. 

She looked at his scars. Truly looked at them. Before, she had been too scared to, and it was not polite to stare. But she considered the bumps upon his face, their colours, the distorted flesh and the expanse of them. He was not ugly. Sansa smiled to herself. If it weren’t for them, he would have every maid blushing as he walked by. Perhaps he would have been more handsome than the Prince. Though it was not her place to think those things. The Prince, her love, was the most handsome and gallant man there was, and she loved him with all her heart, just like a good lady was supposed to. 

Sandor Clegane snapped his head back then, and her eyes quickly dropped to the floor. She hoped she hadn’t offended him. She would hate to have him stop speaking to her again.

“Fire”, he said then, answering a question she had not asked, she would never dare to ask. 

“Does it still hurt”, she asked. “I could ask the maester-“

“No”, he said firmly, and she almost fell off her bench then, so strong had his growl been. “No”, he repeated softer this time. “It doesn’t hurt anymore, Little Bird. Not in a long time.”

Sansa nodded, and then excused herself. It was almost nightfall was approaching quickly, and she ought to look nice for supper with her family, and the family she would marry into. 

As she sat there, in her chambers, brushing through her auburn her, she began to dream of her Florian again. In her head, Jonquil had auburn hair just like she did. Some liked to call it hair that was kissed by fire. 

Fire and its orange flames seemed ever so present in her life. Her hair, her dreams, and now Sandor Clegane as well. Her soulmate dreamt of it too often, as if it mattered to him as well, but the way he dreamt of it was always horrific. Sometimes, there were creatures made of fire that danced their wicked dance around a small castle. Sometimes, there was a little girl with black hair and a pitch-black creature that drowned that little girl in seas of flames. And last night, she had been there, in his dreams, she had burned like she had been made out of straw. The screams were the worst part. Sansa could always hear them ringing in her ears, even after she had awoken. 

She gazed into the mirror and wondered what had befallen Sandor Clegane that he had such horrible burns. He had to be afraid of fire. She would be if she had been burnt that badly. He and her soulmate had that in common, their fear of fire. 

There had to be two men in Winterfell who were afraid of fire. She had seen the way Clegane looked at torches and open flames, she had yet to find another man who disliked them as much as he did. That would be her soulmate. It had to be. 

It took her one more brush through her silky hair to accept it. There was no other man. It was him. Clegane. Sandor Clegane. 

She stumbled back and tipped over a small bucket of ink. She had practised her hand lettering earlier. The black ink poured over the table, and she understood. That night. That night, he had meant to tell her and then he hadn’t. It had to be him. 

He liked her song, he had said that he had heard it many a times. He hadn’t slept. That’s why he had had such terrible bags underneath his eyes, and all that because she had told him of her nightmares. 

Her eyes kept widening and widening until she thought her entire face would be consumed by them.

Sansa flung her door open and made for the courtyard. It was not very hard to spot him. A tall and lonely figure like him stood out from a crowd even though he tried to keep in the dark. 

She hurried, almost ran to where he stood, and it took everything, most of it was her good training in behaviourisms of a lady, to not throw her arms around his neck. 

“I would like to go to the godswood”, she piped. Her voice was higher than usual, as she feared what his answer might be, but he simply took another swig from his flagon and then strut towards the gates. 

By now, he knew the way well, and it was she who followed him. She watched him walk, and suddenly it all made sense. Her father had always wanted her match to be someone brave, gentle and strong. He fit all of those. Joffrey was hardly brave. He was just a boy. He was not gentle. He had snarled at her. She remembered his wormy lips curl. And the gods themselves would laugh if she described him as strong. He wouldn’t even be able to beat little Bran in a fight. 

Sandor Clegane, the Prince’s shield, her soulmate, he stopped and stood to the side as he always did when accompanying her. He waited for her to walk further towards the tree, but she did not. 

She simply stood in front of him, Sansa Stark, daughter of the Warden of the North, his soulmate, and told him, “I know.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa told him that she knows, but what now? What will he say? What will they do?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sup, I was bored so I wrote this
> 
> Now, I'm bored again. 
> 
> Also, the final chapter count will probably be 10

“I know”, she repeated. 

She looked at him, this Warrior incarnate before her. He was nothing like Florian, but perhaps she was nothing like Jonquil. Sandor Clegane was ever so silent, and she for a second, she doubted herself. Perhaps she had been wrong. Perhaps it wasn’t him. 

“What of it”, he huffed, but she could sense the anxiety in his voice. He was afraid, and this time there was no fire there to scare him. 

“What of it? We are soulmates!” He shook his head again, and stepped back against the wall. Sansa had no choice but to go after him. He had to understand how rare it was to find one’s soulmate, how precious and holy soulmates were. He had to see that.

“We are soulmates”, she said softly. She didn’t want to scare him, but she needed him to see what that meant. “The gods have destined our souls to be together. We are one”, Sansa said and stepped a little closer. Her hand was hovering over his heart, but she dared not to touch him. He seemed to be in some sort of pain, and perhaps if she touched him, she would make everything so much worse. 

“Oh, I bet that’s what you always wanted. A scarred and angry dog. This isn’t one of your songs, girl. I am no Florian, and you are to be the Queen.” The scowl he wore did not suit him. She had see him smile once, and that scowl did not fit his face, not when it came to her. 

She did reach out for him then, and there were tears in her eyes when he shivered at her touch. He looked like her fingers weighed more than heavy silver, when in truth, her touch was a mere ghost to his hands. “But it must mean something, the gods will us to be together.”

“And the Queen will have both our heads for it”, he said. his breath was slow, and his voice shivered in regret. “You are promised to the Prince, my lady, and I am sworn to protect the Prince.”

My lady. Not Little Bird. She had grown fond of that name. It was special, he had given her a special name only he used, and it was aa name just for her. He had known longer than she had. 

“I don’t accept it”, she said and even stomped her foot. “I do not accept that I have found my soulmate and it doesn’t matter.”

He opened his mouth to say something, but she wouldn’t let him speak. He would only dismiss their bond again, and she would not take that. 

“How could I ever love the Prince now that I know who my heart truly belongs to? How would any of this ever work? I would have to live with the pain of seeing you every day, loving ang longing from the distance, and then tell another that I love him. No”, she said and shook her head violently, “no, don’t make me do that.”

“I won’t”, he said, and left her standing in the cold. 

She was so stunned that her feet couldn’t carry her forwards and chase after him immediately. That was the response she had wanted, but not the action. He was supposed to take her hand, perhaps even kiss her, and all would be well. But he had walked away. 

Her feet then finally listened to her command again, and she ran for him, that tall and brooding man. Her soulmate. She was chasing her soulmate. 

Perhaps he was going to ask her father or the King for an annulment of her promise to the Prince, but she had seen the defeat in his eyes, had heard the uncertainty in his voice. He was up stop something, and she felt something tug at her heat and tell her that it was not good. Not for her at least. Not for them. 

Them. 

There had to be something she could do, something, anything. 

She reached him just as he was heading for the stables. 

“Where are you going.” She could hear the feast in the Great Hall. What did he want with the horses now? 

“It’s for the best.” He didn’t even turn around to face her. 

Sansa realised then what he was doing. He was going to take his horse and flee. “You can’t leave me here,” she demanded. “Please, don’t leave me. Please.”

“It is for the best. Forget me, love your Prince, and one day you’ll be glad that I left.” He sighed. He was not convinced of his plan either. 

She slowly reached out to him. Her hand was almost half way to his shoulder, when he whipped his body back around. Almost instinctively, she lowered it to cup his face. It was the unscarred side of his face she felt underneath her hands. 

“Please don’t leave me.” His eyes were full of something, but she couldn’t quite say what. Fear perhaps, or was it love? It didn’t matter, but he felt something. He had to feel how wrong his parting would be. 

“All I ask is that you give me one day, just a day. I’ll speak to my father”, she said and noticed the way he shivered when she had mentioned her father. “He would never hurt you. I won’t let him.”

“I don’t fear your father’s sword or that of his bannermen, I fear his words.” Sansa doubted that her father could beat Sandor in combat, but it was true, her father could banish him. He could prevent them ever being together. 

“It’ll be alright.” Her thumb grazed his cheek. “It’ll be alright, but just give me a day. Just one.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa and Ned have their little talk about you-know-what and you-know-who 
> 
> (that's right, they are discussing the Harry Potter books and Voldemort)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *insert tik tok sound: hey, hey, how y'all doin*
> 
> so, I know that it has been A WHILE and I have like 100000 million reasons (Erasmus got cancelled, had to pack up my life abroad and fly home, dissertations, writer's block, bla bla) 
> 
> BUT GUESS WHO IS BACK; BACK AGAIN  
> (also the chapter count has been renewed. 11. my friends, 11.)  
> Anyways, I hope someone is still interested in this.

She waited for the feast to end, waited for the chatter to die, and the mead to run out. Just before her father would slip away into the chambers of the Lord of this ancient castle, she ran after him. He was easy to follow. She knew the corridors and these walls like the back of her own hand. 

Her father was tall, but he seemed almost like a boy compared to her Sandor Clegane. He would never match him in height and perhaps not even in battle. 

Sansa caught up with her father right outside one of the many empty studies of Winterfell, and when she asked him for his time, he understood, and let them inside.

Every single room in Winterfell had been dusted, aired and cleaned as nicely as possible. Her mother was a lady of the south after all, and she had been so excited at the thought of welcoming the King and Queen into their home. 

There was no right way to start this conversation but start it she had to. It would do no good to hold her tongue, to bite back on her words. She had given him a day, so this was it. 

“We need to talk.” She was fidgeting with her fingers uncontrollably, lacing them together, tearing at her gown. They just kept wandering off. 

“I assumed so”, he said and looked around the study. “Is it your sleep that is troubling you?”

“No”, she said. “But it is something related to it. Remember how I was worried that my soulmate has died?”

“Yes. But like your mother said, maybe the gods just wanted him to feel comforted by your own dreams. I wouldn’t worry too much!”

“Well, it’s not that.” Sansa started to wander around the room. Pacing around like a mad dog wouldn’t make this any less painful and horrifying but at least it felt like she was doing something. “You know that soulmates are a gift from the gods to us.”

“Yes. Not everyone finds theirs though. The Prince will be good to you.”

“Of course”, she said, but she was so unsure. Would he? He hated her songs. He hadn’t even looked at her today, and the pain of knowing she loved another. She could not bare these thoughts. “About finding soulmates. I believe I found mine.”

Her father stilled. He did not freeze up, but his hand did pause in the air for a second. “Here in Winterfell”, he asked. “Well, which of my bannermen’s sons must I call my son from now on.”

“He is not from here”, she said. “He came with the Prince, and I fear that you will never call anyone your son but my brothers. Joffrey, the Prince, he is more than I deserve-“

“Nonsense-“

“Father, please, hear what I have to say.” Her own forwardness surprised her. She was usually not this frank. It was not ladylike, but this was important, more important than politeness and curtesy. “I know who my soulmate is, and I know he is not what you want for me, not what mother wants for me.”

Her father laughed at that. “Your mother wishes for you to be Queen. Whose mother doesn’t.”

“I know, but she also wishes for my happiness”, she insisted. “I doubt I’ll be happy with the Prince knowing that my soulmate was out there, knowing I could truly be happy, away from my family, away from the person the gods have made for me.” 

Whisked away from everything she loved, the snow, the cold, she was a wolf after all. The only child of the Starks born during winter. The South would not do her well. Being separated from her true love, and forced to marry someone who didn’t love her, who had laughed at her. Prince Joffrey had been angry at her. He had told her to be quiet. 

“Robert will not be happy”, her father said. 

“But was his soulmate not taken away from him? Is he not unhappy in his marriage, would he not be the one who understood me the most”, she pleaded. “Father, I beg you, I will do anything. I’ll give up my dresses, I will-“

He shook his head. “Keep your dresses. Sansa, child, I must tell you something. Robert might think he understands, but Lyanna was never meant for him. She fled to Rhaegar Targaryen. They were soulmates. I don’t know who Robert’s was, but I believe they were from the North, dead as well. He hasn’t had her dreams since the war.” Her fathers had always been older than the rest of them, but just now she saw the hurt in his eyes as well. 

“He doesn’t need to know that. Please, if you explain it to him the way I did, perhaps he will let me marry who I am meant to be with. He’ll listen to you. You are his friend, you told me he was like a brother to you. Please, for me,” she said, and she had to push the dark thought out of her head. What would happen if she was forced to marry the Prince? Sandor would leave, he would, and he would abandon her and their bond. 

She watched her father’s chest rise and fall as she awaited what he would have to say. He was honourable. Ned Stark’s reputation was known throughout the seven kingdoms, and it was his honour that would decide what he was going to do. 

Sansa understood that he could be forced to honour his promise to unite House Stark and House Baratheon by her marriage to the Prince. Yet, foolishly perhaps, she hoped he would honour his promise to give his children a happy life, to honour his family before politics.

Her father’s fore-head was as wrinkly as her own gown, and she saw him draw in a deep breath. “It seems that the Stark women have a tendency to flee from an engagement to the Baratheon men”, he said. Sansa was not sure of the tone of voice. Was he going to help her? It depended on him now. She was just a mere girl, not the Lord of a great house of Westeros. Her only reputation was singing too much and being good at needlework. 

“If I’m going to help you, I need to know who is going to whisk my beautiful daughter away.”

Sansa smiled. Her father would help her. “Do you vow that you will help me?”

“I swear it on the old gods and the new.” She had his vow, and as he had taught her when she had been little, such a vow could never be broken. 

“Sandor Clegane.” In a mere fraction of seconds she saw her father’s face change a hundred times. It went from one of surprise to one of shock, anger, every single emotion known to man. 

He had never been a man of many words, but she wished he would say something. “Father?”

“At least he can fight.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ha, ha, I am really scared because I know I have lost my readership. Ha ha. 
> 
> On another note, died my hair ginger because I'm in my 20s and this is the only acceptable coping method and honestly, I'm feeling great and living my life


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa talks with her mother, oh no,

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this and the next chapter are the hard ones, the ones I do not want to/like to write.   
> But I will, I hope at least
> 
> Also, we're at 12 chapters now. Ha, ha, remember when I said I was gonna do 4? Well that was a lie

“Does that mean you will help us”, Sansa whispered into the dark room. The uncertainty of this moment tore at her bones, her heart, her inner most strings of her heart. 

The decision had to be made, and it had to be made fast. Sandor would leave her, he would leave her, that was what he had said. She would be forced to follow the Prince to the South, and there would not come a day where she would be parted from his side. Bound together forever by the forceful power of matrimony.

All that would console her were her dreams of a better life with a better person who was meant to match her soul and spirit, hers only. Her songs would be soundless, she was sure of it. The Prince did not like them and once she was his wife and he was King of the Seven Kingdoms, there would be nothing and nobody who could oppose him. 

Sansa clutched at her throat. “Will you help me?”

She watched her father breathe again. “I gave you my word.” He shook his head again. Perhaps he was only now realising the gravity of the situation. “But you must explain it to your mother yourself. You will do that and then come and find me. We’ll see his Grace together.”

Her mother. She had forgotten about her for a second. Sansa swallowed heavily. Her mouth had gone dry. She would rather face a dragon with nothing but her needle to defend her. She would be outraged; she would hate her. 

She was awake to Sansa’s surprise. Her mother was wide awake, her hair pleated perfectly, and her gown free of any wrinkles  
.   
The candles in her parent’s bedroom were threatening to die, and she did not know what would scare her more, facing her mother in the dark, or seeing her face when she told her the inevitable course of events. 

Sansa’s fingers were fidgeting again, once again they refused to remain calm, to remain ladylike and composed. The things she was going to say were not ladylike or composed, so perhaps it fit that neither was she. 

“You couldn’t sleep? Should I ask the maester to help you sleep.” Just with her father, she did not know how to tell her mother. Though this was harder, this was so much harder. She wished she was Arya, courageous and always defiant. She wished this would be easier. 

“No, I am perfectly fine. I heard you and your father talk. It seemed important. Is there anything you want to tell me?”

“Yes”, she said but couldn’t force her lips to make the sounds. She closed her eyes as if she could shut all her negative thought swirling around in her head out, as if she would not hear her mother’s hurt when she told her. 

“I have found my soulmate, here in Winterfell.”

“That is lovely, dear, but-“ It was not like her to interrupt her mother, but it was also not like her to defy her parent’s wishes. She understood how much her words were going to pain her mother. All those times spent practising every curtsey, the times her mother had braided her hair and told her about the time she would become Queen, the time when she would marry a lord of the great house. Her mother’s hopes and dreams rested within her, and she was going to cast them aside. 

“I will marry him and I will not be Queen. No to the people of the Seven Kingdoms.” Her eyes shot wide open, rimmed with tears for her mother’s dead dreams. “I can be the queen of people’s hearts, I will make them love me.” 

“After all we have done”, her mother stopped herself. “What does your father say?”

Sansa winced. “He vowed to help us. He swore it on the old gods and the new.”

“I don’t know what to say to you right now. Everything we have done for you, every hour spent practising, what are you thinking?”

“That I have found my soulmate. You said that it was something holy, rare and a gift from the gods.”

“It is a gift from the gods to become Queen.” Her mother’s eyes were on her face, but it was as if she was a ghost. They burned right through her and created a dark void where she was standing. “What is done is done. Tell me who I am losing my daughter to.”

“You are not losing me”, she whispered. “I’ll not go South. You would keep me here. Not like you would lose me if I were to marry the Prince.” 

But it was not an answer enough. Her mother wanted to know who specifically was destroying her dreams, and burning them into ashes. 

“His name is Sandor, Sandor Clegane.” If her mother was disgusted, she did not show it. Her face was that of a marble complexion. Stone cold, and white. She stood there, motionless, a dead body, unmoved.   
Sansa did not cry in front of her mother. She waited until she had closed the door behind her, and only then did she allow herself to spill a tear. She was happy, she was overjoyed, she had found her soulmate. But why did it hurt so much? Why did her soul ache for her mother?

“Changed your mind”, a rasping voice said. Her favourite voice. 

“Never”, she said and had to keep herself from throwing her arms around his neck. Her mother had always held her tight when she cried, but that was no longer possible. 

“Then why are you crying, Little Bird.”

She wiped her tears from her face, wiped away the sadness of knowing what a disappointment she was, she wiped it all away. “It is nothing.”

His arms were suddenly on her shoulders, light, yet so heavy. “Has someone hurt you? You can tell me, I’ll kill them.” Sandor began shaking her. “I’ll kill them for you, I swear it. They're all afraid of me. No one would hurt you again, or I'd kill them.” 

“I would prefer it if you didn’t kill my wife.” Her father had come out of nowhere. Sandor must have heard him coming, as he had quickly pulled her behind him, shielding her with his own body. 

“Lord Stark.” His hand disappeared from her arm, and she was cold again. 

“Clegane.” He gave him a curt nod. Nothing too nice, nothing too polite, but at least he did not say anything. It was better than she had hoped for. 

“The King awaits us.” It was in the early morning hours. She had thought that the King would be either asleep or too deep into his wine to receive anyone. Perhaps her father was trying to take advantage of that. 

She followed her father slowly, her mind blank, not even Florian and Jonquil on her mind, though she did pray to the Mother and the Maiden. Someone, anyone had to help her. Her eyes were closed, she knew the castle better than her own mind. 

“It’ll be alright”, he whispered behind her. “You will be alright.” But she was not so sure of it. If this was treason, she would need more than Sandor’s steel to protect her from raging lions and ferocious stags.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, a Sansan Secret Santa (or a version of it) is happening as a quarantine edition, and you can count on your girl participating, so there'll be another one shot/fic up


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> so our little bird has to talk to the King now, let us pray to the Sansa gods that everything goes well

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heeyyy, so, awkward, but I thought I had already uploaded this chapter and turns out I didn’t. Sorry about that, my friends, the next chapter is the last and I am ready but also not ready to part with this fic.

They found the King sitting in the empty great hall. The music was gone, the chatter had fizzled out, it was only him and another figure. A woman, and Sansa was ashamed to admit that she knew it wouldn’t be the Queen. 

With a wave of his hand, she was gone, out the back door, and they were alone again. 

“What’s this then?”

“Your Grace”, her father bowed deeply, and Sansa followed his example. They needed him, needed his word and power, and she would never dream of offending the King. 

She felt her heart hammer against the bones of her own ribcage so hard, she feared that it might burst right through her. She ought not to be afraid. Jonquil was brave for her Florian. True love always won in the end. It conquered all, the spoils of war, raging kings, and injustice. 

Life was not a song. She knew that, but all she could do was hope. Hope and pray. 

Patiently, she waited for her father to say something, to only speak when spoken to. The air was filled with the static of lightning. One false step, one wrong word, and everything would go up in fames and come down crashing. 

“As I explained, your Grace, my daughter can no longer unite our houses,” he said but she could see the hesitation in his eyes, the dread of what he would say. 

“Ned, you’re my friend, but this is nonsense. I will hear no more of it.”

“Your Grace”, Sansa stepped forward, and not for the first time, she was surprised at her own bravery. “If I may speak.”

Her own breath threatened to choke her as she waited for the King to say something. He nodded slowly, perhaps moved by her willingness to stand up for herself. 

“I have found my soulmate, and I could not love the Prince as truly and as wholeheartedly as a wife should, knowing what I do.” The King scoffed at that, but she could see the sadness in his eyes. his marriage was an unhappy one. He knew her pain. He did.

“Did you not do everything in your power when your soulmate was taken from you? I heard my father’s tales of your bravery so many times.”

“I started a war for her”, he said, but not to her. Perhaps to himself instead, to remind him of her long dead aunt, of the woman he had raised armies for, the woman who had led him to sit on the Iron Throne. 

“I know”, she said and stepped even closer than she already was. She could see his teary eyes now, though whether it was the wine or the memory of what he had treasured more than his own life, she dared not say. “I know. And I would do the same. I have to. The gods will it so.”

“I do not like it. I do not like it.” Of course he wouldn’t. She understood that. What people thought about the Prince mattered. What people said about the daughter of the honourable Lord Stark mattered. To other people at least. She did not care anymore. 

The King shook his head again. “So, who is it that makes you stand up to a King?”

“Me, your Grace.” Sandor emerged from the shadows. The King had probably not noticed him standing there. After all, he blended into the background of dark stone so well. His entire life was spent in the shadows of the Crown. 

The King looked at Sandor, truly looked at him for perhaps the first time, and she thought he was going to scream. Instead, his body released the sound of a thousand thunders. A rolling laughter, that of a bear, not that of a proud stag rolled through the halls of Winterfell. 

Sansa looked at her father first, reluctant to smile, scared to move. Sandor seemed to be frozen in time as well. She couldn’t even see him breathe. 

She watched the King as he laughed, and laughed, and roared. She thought he would choke on his own amusement. 

“Come here, child. You as well”, he said and pointed towards Sandor. His words had reached her ears, and no sooner was he there, holding her hand so delicately, as if she were made of porcelain.   
“I can’t say I’m happy for it, but I understand it.”

“The Queen-“, Sansa said. 

“I can handle the Queen myself. I free you of your promise to my son. The both of you.” She stood there as the day broke, and a new sun shone through the windows of the Great Hall, and upon them. 

Sansa stood there, holding her soulmate’s hand, as the King offered his conditions. They would not be married soon. For the Crown’s sake, for hers and for the sake of her mother. Sandor would be her sworn shield first, and then when her father would see it proper and right, they would be allowed to join their souls for forever. 

“Clegane”, he called out. “Do not let your King down.” 

True to his nature, a man of few words, he only nodded, but she could see a small smile on his lips. It was tiny, almost invisible, but it was there, and it was there only for her. 

“All men are fools in love”, the King said. And despite all that she had heard about him, the drunk king, the king of wine and food, she saw what he truly was. Perhaps not a wise king, but a tired one.

If Sandor was a fool, then he would be her fool. Her Florian, and she his Jonquil. “I will always be in your debt”, she said instead. 

He gave her a curt nod, and then, he motioned for her father to follow him. 

It was done. She was free. 

"Little Bird", he breathed, and she smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, I feel like I’ve been letting everyone down (quality wise) and I’m sorry about that. I know there’s a shift in style, and I’m trying to re-create that whimsical fairy tale voice, but it’s really hard when you’re stuck inside an apartment that is everything but.


	12. Chapter 12 - Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this is the end of the story now I'm sad

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *drum roll*  
> THIS IS IT. THIS IS THE END
> 
> I am literally on a skype call right now, seeking support from my friend because godddd, this is the end (also, we recreated the I want it that way b99 moment and it was epic)

It was midnight. The deep skies hung over the towers of Winterfell, and only the moon was keeping her company. It was late and yet her eyes refused to grow heavy. Somehow Sansa’s mind was keeping the little fires in her head glowing. She could not sleep. The past months had been nothing but a blur of colours, laughter and cheerful smiles. 

There were emotions flowing through her veins she had never felt before, and to imagine she would share her bed with the Prince now, not her husband. She looked at him, sound asleep and silent. Her eyes followed the lines of his face, the shape of his nose, and the shadows that laid upon his face. She knew that face better than anybody else’s now. Perhaps even better than her own. She knew all the valleys and ridges, the bumps and lines that made up his face. Sansa could see it as clear as the morning sun if she just closed her eyes. 

Sometimes, when she dreamed of him, tall and gallant and dark, he would laugh the next day. It was not what he looked like, he would tell her, but that was not true. She saw him, truly saw him, and she knew the shape of him better than her husband himself.

She watched her husband fast asleep, and she had to smile to herself. He was sleeping soundly, he did not stir or shiver. He did not grab the sheets of their bed and clung onto them anymore.   
Many nights ago, so very many nights ago, she recalled his restless footsteps, and hers too. What a quiet world it had been then, what a different one. 

They had been married for three months now. Three whole months she had spent lying in his arms, walking with his hand in hers, and placing sweet kisses onto his lips. that’s what the world thought, Sansa was a Lady, but as soon as a date for their wedding had been set, and perhaps before that as well, she had stolen kisses from her husband in sheds, the woods, on hunting trips, and in dark corridors. Three months and she could still hear the words he had said when he had come to claim her as his wife. They had been in the Godswood. The Weirwood trees had been so bright red against the white of the glistening snow. She had cried, and although he would never admit it, not in a million years, she had thought that a very small tear had sat at the rim of Sandor’s eye. 

She smiled to herself, when she felt him move next to her. 

“Still awake”, he said, deep and husky. His voice was always that way, but even more so, almost raw, when he had just woken up. Sansa loved that she got to know so many small things about him now. Things only she would ever know about him. How he liked to rise early, what he sounded like in the morning, how he always kicked his shirts onto the floor, and how much he loved her. 

“I can’t sleep”, she said, but her smile did not fade. It was no longer her dreams, or her husband’s that plagued her heart and kept her mind wide awake. It was something else, something deeper than that. She couldn’t stop smiling. 

“Not me that is keeping you awake.”

“No”, she said and pulled his face closer to hers. His lips were so close to hers, she could feel the warmth flowing through his body and pouring onto hers.

“Not the little one either”, he said and placed a soft hand for a man of such strength on her abdomen. 

“No, not him either. I am just so happy, so unbelievably happy. I don’t think my heart can handle it.”

He almost sprung to his feet then. “Do not fetch the maester. It was only one of my musings.” Many would be surprised just how much he cared for her. They said that the Hound did not love, nor was he loved, but they had clearly never met the Lady Sansa. All men were fools in love, and perhaps she liked that. He was not himself when he was with her, or maybe he was only himself when he was with her. 

He settled down slowly. “Go to bed, little bird.” 

“I can’t, I’m trying.” 

He looked at her for a brief second. And then his arms were around her middle, pulling her into his chest. He wrapped them around her body until she was sure his entire form had swallowed hers. “We can’t have that, now can we?”

She would never get used to being so close to him, and she would never get used to the moment, would always dread it, whenever he had to let go. His body so close to hers, her skin next to his. she was happy here, happier than she ever thought she was going to be. 

Sansa could feel him lowering his head onto hers until his lips were kissing the crown of her hair. “Go to bed, little bird, and dream of winter roses.”

“No”, she said, “I’ll dream of a Hound and his maiden fair.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, my friends, this is it, I am so glad you enjoyed this story until the end (hopefully). I loved writing this, and even though I was a lazy potato half way through, I must say that I enjoyed the ride. This was supposed to be only 4 chapters long, well that didn’t work out, did it? also, i’ve been avoiding writing this because I didn’t want it to end  
> If you want to request something, leave a comment down below. I can’t promise that I’ll do it right away, but we’ll see (may I also hint at my favourite piece of Sansan writing that I have done that has the least views?) (It’s a one shot battle of the blackwater AU called I like the Monster Better)   
> Farewell, until the next fic.


	13. Not the update you want

Hi, I’ll delete this soon so you may enjoy this without this last chapter

I just wanted to let you guys know that the first chapter to my new soulmate fic is up now and that I’ll update it tonight. I’m only saying this since like 90+ people are subscribed here and some of them wanted to revive a notification when it’s up. 

You can find it in the series: “Sansan are soulmates” as part 2 

Love you 

Bye

**Author's Note:**

> Omg, I am really digging this, so be prepared for maybe 4 chapters in total.
> 
> I got two requests asking for a Soulmate AU (I thought they died in 2014) and here it is.  
> Let me know what you think


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